


Never Let Me Go

by Dekka



Series: Mitch Marner Whump Fics [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, M/M, Police, Robbed at gunpoint, Stitches, Wounds, mugged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:40:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12899349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: It doesn't happen to you. It happens to the people around you.Aka: Mitch doesn't come home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in the tags.

Auston is a realist in love with a dreamer. He’s used to far-fetched ideas like ocean sex, cliff jumping, and staying out when he should be fast asleep in bed, all because of the man his stupid heart decided to burst over. 

So Mitch not being home by ten pm when they have morning practice shouldn't worry him the way it is now. He probably just got distracted, or lost track of time, or made a new friend, or thousands of other things Mitch does on a daily basis that he makes seem easier than breathing. 

It’s just- the thing is, he didn't text Auston. Not that Auston expects him to by any means. It’s just so unlike Mitch, who no matter how distracted he gets by the world around him is always thinking of Auston first, there to tell him about the cool person he just met, or who he charmed into buying him shots, or which friend of his did something embarrassing in the back of a grimy Toronto bar. 

Mitch even said he’d be home early, but it’s slowly creeping up to 11:30pm, and as much as Auston wants to pretend that the last hour and a half was him just lazily waiting around, in reality he’s been circling the front door, using every noise as an excuse to check the hallway for his long-lost boyfriend. 

He’s starting to feel pathetic and in the back of his mind he feels for all those dogs that sit at their windows, patiently waiting for their owner to return. 

By midnight every feeling that’s not deep-rooted anxiety is gone. He’s tried calling, he’s tried texting but all signs point to Mitch’s phone being off. As much as he tries to fight it, he cant help imagining Mitch lost somewhere, drunk and confused, waiting for Auston to come find him. 

With no where to turn he falls back on the team's group chat. Mitch was out with some of the guys tonight, so Auston texts the chat, knowing he’s throwing himself under the bus for years of chirping. 

He types out his text thousands of time before he settles on simplicity. _“Has anyone heard from Mitch?”_

Chirps roll in by the dozen but Auston’s in no mood to deal with them. 

He has to dig through replies to find one that’s actually helpful. It’s Matt Martin. _“He left the bar two hours ago…”_

For too long Auston just stares at his phone, letting reality soak in. The other guys must catch on to the seriousness because the texts coming in slow to a halt. 

It’s Willy that breaks the pause in time. _“He didn't make it home?”_

This cant be happening. 

This isn't happening. 

Mitch just got lost, or met someone new, it’s fine, he’s fine, everything’s _fine_. 

Auston throws up in the kitchen sink, his vision blurred and hands shaking. 

He cant wait around doing nothing. He starts with the nearest police stations and works his way out, calling and begging for any information they have. The second he says the name ‘Mitchell Marner’ they laugh and hang up and he calls back. He doesn't stop until they threaten arrest, and even then he pushes on. His seriousness gets him talking to the chief of most precincts explaining the situation. In the end there’s nothing much he or they can do when Auston’s only grounds of worry are that his “friend” isn't picking up his phone. 

Their fame works against them, especially in Toronto. The police can’t cause city-wide panic by putting out a missing persons for Mitch and even if they wanted to, there’s no proof he’s actually missing. 

“If he’s not back by the morning call us again.” They promise to field every nearby district for news but tell him they cant give him any information legally, no matter how famous he is. 

Auston parks himself on the couch by the door and stares it into submission. 

By 1:24am he starts to consider calling Mitch’s parents. He doesn't want to worry them, but he feels helpless, gnawing at his fingertips while bathed in silence of an apartment normally filled with Mitch’s voice, his laugh, his singing, his presence. 

2:30 comes, then 3:00, then 4:00, and Auston just knows, deep in his gut, that Mitch isn't just passed out somewhere. 

4:48 am the sound of keys scraping the doorknob sends him to his feet. He has to listen for a minute, afraid he’s imagining the noise like the first three times this happened, but this time, it’s really there. 

He has to slow himself at the last second, hand a centimeter from the doorknob, just to remember to breathe. After all this time, if Mitch is fine, Auston’s going to kill him. He doesn't fling open the door, but it’s a near thing. And there, in the bright light of the hallway, is Mitch, his hand holding his keys still frozen where the lock used to be. 

Just seeing Mitch again sends a bit of shock through Auston’s system. He’s too relieved to notice the blood matted to his hair, his jeans, or the Toronto Police Department sweater he’s swimming in, or the way his eyes dart down the hallway, past Auston’s frame, and to the window, as if looking for an escape. No, those things he doesn't notice, not until he goes to pull Mitch into his arms and he fucking _flinches_ from _Auston_. A step away from him, the changes from when Mitch left this afternoon are obvious, stark in the too-bright lights of the hallway. 

Auston’s voice cracks as he asks “what happened?” while his mind throws his worst fears in his face. 

“I’m sorry,” is all Mitch says before he breaks down, body shaking apart so terribly that Auston has to rush to help him stay standing. 

He works on auto pilot from there, not letting himself think, ushering Mitch inside and bringing him to their room. He has to be okay so that he can take care of Mitch and he knows if he even lets his mind go for one second he wont be much help. Mitch resists his hold once they get to their bed, choking off sobs as he motions at his jeans. They’re spotted with blood, some by the hip, some on the thigh, enough that Auston leads Mitch to the bathroom. 

He doesn't need answers right now, he just needs Mitch to be okay. 

“Can you stand for the shower?” Mitch nods but his iron grip on Auston doesn't let up, his panicked-ridden eyes jumping to the bathroom door. 

“You want me to stay?” Auston asks. 

Mitch nods again. His silence is starting to get unnerving, but Auston isn't going to push him. Together they get the clothes peeled off of him. The jeans stick where the blood is heaviest, but underneath the clothing are no cuts. 

_“Mitch?”_ Auston begs, mind starting to go wild. He knows Mitch didn't hurt anybody, more because he knows Mitch than because of the Toronto Police Department sweater he showed up wearing, but all this blood had to come from somewhere. 

The silence persists, heavy, but Mitch lifts the hair from his forehead, showing the beginnings of a nasty cut that disappears into his hairline. He lets Auston closer to inspect the damage under his blood-matted hair, but it’s already been cleaned and stitched. 

Auston doesn't understand, can’t begin to even process what everything means. “You went to the hospital?” 

Mitch shakes his head ‘no’ and Auston’s stomach starts carving a place for itself in his throat. 

“The police, had paramedics.” Now that he’s said more than two words Auston can hear the gravel in his voice, the shaking of his lungs, and the fear. 

“Can I hug you?” Auston asks, steps away, socked feet warm on the heated floor of their bathroom. They’re in the safest place they could be but Mitch is hurt- is hurting. 

These things don't happen to professional athletes. They happen to girls walking home alone and your friend from high school. They don't happen to you, only the people around you, until they just _do_. 

Mitch nods, eyes always darting to the door after every glance he dares to risk on Auston. Between the two of the them they manage to stay upright, relying on the other for strength. 

“How did you get home?” Auston asks after a small eternity, burying one of his hands carefully in the back of Mitch’s hair to keep him as covered, as safe, in his arms as he can imagine. 

“I took a cab.”

Auston would ask him why, why he didn't call, why he went through this alone, but he honestly thinks Mitch is only operating on one thought right now, and that one thought is geared at survival. 

He cant live much longer not knowing how his boyfriend ended up beaten and bloody at their door. His mind is going to the sickest places, places he cant handle.

“Mitch, please, what happened?” 

When Mitch pulls away Auston fully believes he wont get an answer, but instead Mitch is laughing through his tears. “I got mugged,” he says, disbelieving, the same gravel cutting through his throat. 

Auston doesn't know how he’s supposed to react. Admittedly he feels relieved it wasn't some of the other things it could’ve been, but even those thoughts make him feel sick, knowing that even though it wasn’t those things, this is still- God, it’s awful, twisted, fucked-up, terrifying. 

“There were these guys and they had a gun and I just-“ Mitch’s frantic explanation is cut off by his harsh breaths, so Auston pulls him in close again, just breathing him in, getting the feel of him in his arms, trying to shake away the terror deconstructing and rerouting itself in his stomach. 

When Mitch finally gets to the shower he goes in with the curtain only half-closed, eyes always glancing over to where Auston sits, camped out on their bathroom counter. They’re both silent the whole time, trying to make sense of the night. 

As the room clouds with steam Auston lets himself get lost, mind jumping and rearranging to what he knows. The thought sickens him further, but he knows If he went out with Mitch tonight that there's a chance that all of this wouldn't have happened. He feels like if they fell asleep now they'd wake up fine and relive the day, changing what Auston knows, deep down, he can't.

His heel hits the counter in his absentmindedness and from the corner of his eye he sees Mitch jump, eyes distant as if locked in the same loop as Auston was seconds ago.

"Mitchy," he calls, to shake him from it.

Their eyes meet only for a second before Mitch is looking to the door again, as if soothed by the idea of an escape route in their own home.

Auston can't stand the idea and can't stand going back to his thoughts, so he pushes forward once more, shutting the water off and wrapping Mitch in two of their biggest towels. They'll be okay. It'll take time but _Mitch is alive_ and that's all they need. They'll be okay.

“Don’t leave me alone,” Mitch begs, later, when Auston goes to set their security system for the night. He comes with instead, a step behind and his hand bunched tight on the back of Auston's shirt, then pleads for him to reset the system again just so he can see the little green light blink ‘secure’ at him. Auston would do it a thousand times over if it would stop the tremors running through Mitchy. 

They don't sleep. They hold each other into morning, trading panic-filled breaths and relieved kisses, making promises they can’t possibly keep.

“No one will ever hurt you again,” Auston says, lips buried in Mitch’s hair. 

“I’m okay,” Mitch whispers back, even as his tremor persists. 

In the craziness of it all, Auston leaves his phone forgotten on the nightstand, the group chat missed messages grazing the high sixties.

“Where's your phone?” Auston asks, once the sun has risen, his fingers frozen above his own key-pad, unsure what to even say to their teammates. 

“They smashed it, when they left me- there, they didn't want me to call for help before they could get away.” 

The explanation starts over Mitch’s trauma and Auston’s panic of losing the person he loves most, so they hold each other past their 7am alarms, too scared to move and lose the false pretense of security they’ve just rebuilt. 

“You should go to practice,” Mitch whispers when their last alarm goes off. After each blare of noise Mitch tenses up further and Auston rushes to silence the thing once and for all. 

“I’m not leaving you here alone.” Morning light and time have revealed bruises along Mitch’s forehead, jaw, neck, and right eye, so even if he was okay mentally, hiding the incident is out of the question. 

Auston knows Mitch tried to fight, the mere mass of injuries his proof, and tiredly amazed, he wonders with a bit of thrill and a lot of anxiety how he ended up with the one guy who’d look a gunman in the face and decide to throw hands. 

“I love you,” he says, then kisses under Mitchy’s left eye, nearly the only part of his face not molten with bruises. 

“Then take me to the rink,” Mitch says. Auston stutters over how to tell him about his face but Mitch’s eyes go hard, determined. “I’m not embarrassed.” 

“You’re a fighter,” Auston shrugs, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

Mitch’s answering smile is soft, warm, somehow happy in the mist of all this bad. Despite everything, Auston relaxes. 

He’ll never stop being amazed of the man he loves. 

“Honestly though,” Mitch starts, letting his feelings and words build up until they rush out, “just- fuck them. Fuck them for thinking they can do that to another person.” 

The anger, at least, is better than fear. 

Mitch laughs, real now, less insane than before. “I thought I understood people, but how someone could- I just, I want to be somewhere that makes sense and hockey- I just want to be there.” 

Auston pauses, almost unsure at the sudden changes in Mitch. He knows it’s all bravo, this new calm, but it’s still easier to handle than the terrified glances and shaking hands from minutes ago, so together they get ready to face the day. Everything feels different, even brushing their teeth side by side get's Auston's heart pounding, reminding him to be thankful for even the smallest moments.

When they finally make their way down to the car the good feelings from earlier disappear. Auston finds it even harder to keep himself in check, his instincts begging him to turn around, back to their apartment. As they take the elevator and walk through the parking garage his hand is sealed tight on the small of Mitch's back. He knows he's glaring at everyone that so much as glances at them, but he won't stop, not while Mitch is stiff against him, scared, barely breathing.

The car, thankfully, feels safer and mile by mile Auston's brain comes back online, coming down from the white-out of protectiveness. Curled up in the passenger's seat, Mitch is doing no better. Leaving so soon is already starting to feel like a mistake.

"We can go back," Auston says, ten miles too late. Mitch shakes his head though and ends it at that.

Auston hasn't always been good with feelings. As him and Mitch grew closer that changed, but now, with Mitch so off center, and Auston trying to hold them both together, he can't help worrying he's going about this the wrong way, pushing them back to normality too soon despite Mitchy's assurance that this is what he wants.

"I'm fine, really," Mitch says, as if sensing Auston's worry. There's not much he can do to fight Mitch on it so he does what he can do, blasting the heat, hoping it'll stanch the shivers he can visibly see from the corner of his eye.

As he drives he wonders where the hell the bravo from earlier came from and how it managed it leave them both so defenseless.


	2. Chapter 2

The rink has always been a safe haven but today it stands large and mocking, looming like a dare. Behind those doors are questions they’ll have to answer, a story they’ll have to tell. Neither breathe in the car, the cut engine letting cool fall air choke them as it seeps in. 

“We can go home,” Auston whispers, as if anything louder will break whatever eerie calm has settled over them. 

Mitch closes his eyes, takes one breath in, and ignores him. If he doesn’t go in now he knows the feeling of dread will grow. There’s just things you never imagine doing, even in your wildest nightmares, and these last twenty-four hours Mitch has been drowning in that unknown territory. 

Running over what to say, he tries out thousands of sentences. He doesn’t want the guys to know, not now, not ever, but hiding it will only make everyone dig deeper. 

It’s not that Mitch doesn’t trust them. They just already treat him like the kid brother of the group and as much as he loves the love, having them hear this will make them treat him like glass perpetually. And admittedly, he’s a little embarrassed. 

“Mitch,” Auston’s voice is gentle, desperate, _scared_ , “we can go home.”

Mitch is done being scared. He opens the door before he can think about it, throws his hood over his head, and steals Auston’s hat from the backseat, lowering it enough that his face is shadowed. 

“Now or never,” he says, when Auston tries to slow him down. It’s all too easy to slip out of his arms when he wont even really grab onto him. He’s the first of them to start treating Mitch like glass and Mitch is not having it. He finds himself rolling his eyes as he fully breaks from Auston’s hold. 

Walking through the rink’s halls feels like a bad scene from a low-budget horror movie. The light down the hall flickers, there’s muffled yells from behind the locker room walls, and at the very last possible second, the door to the trainer’s room flies open, a shadow of a man in the doorway. 

If there’s one thing Paul, their head medical trainer, is good at, it’s finding hidden injuries. He takes to Mitch’s shrunken frame like a shark smelling blood. 

“What happened?” He asks, already advancing on them. There’s something about his build that has Mitch latching onto Auston, backing them up as panic wells up from his stomach until his throat is closing up. Stupidly, his first instinct is to shield Auston. If Auston wasn’t watching him with concern-filled eyes Mitch knows they’d both be laughing at his stupid attempt to protect all 240 pounds of Auston-fucking-Matthews with his slim, 170 pound frame. 

“Sit him down, gently, gently,” Paul coaches, backing off to let Auston handle him. Even having Paul step away, changing his posture, helps Mitch breathe again. He didn’t even realize how oxygen-starved he was until that first breath comes rushing in. 

Then of course, because Mitch has the worst luck in the whole entire league, Coach picks that moment to walk out of the locker room doors, the team trailing after him to get to the ice. 

It’s like a standoff of silence, both groups waiting for someone to break the stare down. Like always, it’s Paul that fixes things. 

“Players keep moving please,” he motions, positioning himself to shield Mitch from their curious stares. It doesn’t do much, but it’s an illusion of privacy that Mitch needs more than ever as his face heats. Like this, curled up and shaking on the ground, is the last way he wanted to see the team for the first time. 

Subtly, he tries hiding his face in his hands, hoping no one can see the tears he’s trying to force away. Next to him, Auston’s hand is heavy on his knee, then lowers slowly to squeeze around his calf. It’s the only feeling he can focus on for a while, matching his breaths with each squeeze as Auston readjusts his grip. 

After a minute Paul replaces him, leaving Mitch searching for the comfort he's just lost. 

“Lets get you walking, up on three.” There’s arms pulling him up and once he’s finally standing he comes face to face with Babcock. It’s hard watching the way his Coach’s eyes dance from one bruise to the next. His hat, it seems, has done a good job of surprising him. 

Babcock's eyes are hard, dark. “I want a physical evaluation first, then mental.” 

As he’s turns he grabs Auston’s arm. “Him too,” he says. 

They end up in separate rooms, Coach and Paul both with Mitch. 

The heaviness in the air is enough to leave Mitch breathing hard, waiting for whatever they're building up to say.

“If Auston would ever-“

“Coach, no.” Mitch puts a stop to the train of thought before it even makes it fully into the room. He’s dizzy with just the idea. Through all of this Auston has been his rock and for someone to even suggest he’s the cause of all this damage hurts more than it probably should. 

“It’s okay, Mitch, deep breaths,” Paul coaxes, helping him move his sore body up onto one of his examination tables. Coach lets the topic rest, but never takes more than three steps away, hovering with his arms crossed and eyes calculating. 

“Who did these stitches?” Paul asks after he’s checked out the extensive bruising on Mitch’s torso and face. His hands are still gently carving over each of Mitch’s ribs, so when Mitch finally does speak, his words come out breathless. “A paramedic.” 

Paul follows up his question by pressing around the area but he seems pleased. “Okay, good.” The pressing and prodding goes on for another ten minutes, Babcock unmoving and Paul occasionally commenting on his injuries.

“ _Definitely no play for awhile, days to a week depending on his mental health_.”

“ _His ribs should get wrapped up_.”

“ _The stitches can come out in a couple days_.” 

They talk like he’s not even there. 

It’s just a rehashing of news to him, he already went through all of this in the back of the ambulance, but he’s not going to be the one to fight Coach on it. 

From there it’s more talking over his head, but eventually Paul helps him back off of the table and they finally get back to Auston. Just seeing him makes the tension in Mitch’s shoulders bleed out. 

They make their way together to Coach’s office, Babcock and Paul leading the way to shield the players from prying eyes. When they finally get there, though, settled across the desk from their coach, the words don’t come. Mitch tries to stutter through half of the sentences he’s thought over and over again, but he can’t finish. Vulnerability, it seems, is harder to face here. 

Under the table, Auston’s hand finds his. It makes the words come easier. 

He starts where he can, jumping from point to point as he remembers, as he relives it all.

Coach doesn’t talk until the very end, letting Mitch hash through the events with Auston’s occasional help and commentary.

By the end Mitch doesn’t even realize he’s crying, only made aware by the tissues Babcock hands to him. He hangs his head, blots at his eyes, and cringes against the headache that’s slowly building up on him. 

“Mitchy, we’ll offer you anything we can to help you.” Babcock even comes over by him, crouching down to his level. His eyes are sincere in a way Mitch has only seen a very select amount of times, mostly while Babcock has been with kids or parents at the SickKids Hospital. It’s hard to believe he’s on the other end of that look. 

They stay that way for awhile, Babcock comforting him while Auston stands guard, handing Mitch new tissues every time his starts falling apart. 

When Babcock stands, long after his knees have probably started hurting, he pulls Mitch up with him. In a rare moment of openness, Babcock goes in for a hug.“You’re a strong kid, Mitchy, but don’t think you have to go through this alone.” 

The words alone leave his eyes watering. He feels like a little kid as he buries his head in Babcock’s shoulder, letting his Coach squeeze a feeling of safety into his bones. When they pull apart Mitch thinks it should feel awkward, being in a room of hugging, crying, men, but Babcock just pats his shoulder, looks to Auston and pats him too as he leads them to the door of his office. 

“Go home, get some rest, both of you,” he commands. “You both can come back tomorrow for skate to do psych evaluations, but Mitchy you wont be on ice for a while.” 

Mitch knows he shouldn’t expect to skate, but it’s all he wants right now. As if reading his resistance to Coach's words, Auston wraps his arm around Mitch's waist, gently guiding him out before he can argue.

Together they make it back to the car, buckle up, and again, are left in the silence. It feels different now, less daunting, less like pressure building on their shoulders, threatening to crush them under the weight of a dangerous world. 

Tomorrow they’ll face their teammates, tomorrow Mitch will go back to the precinct, tomorrow he’ll make the last trip he’s dreading, to his parent’s house. He can only hope the news doesn’t break to the media before he can comfort his Mom. Today, though, today they’ll come to terms with yesterday. Today they’ll get their favorite comfort food, turn on their favorite movie, and fall asleep curled together on the couch behind a locked door, secured lobby, and gated building. 

Today they’ll reorient themselves and tomorrow will be one step closer to getting their lives back to normal.

Tomorrow, Mitch will live another day, and that’s more than he could even imagine after last night’s events. 

He’ll still think of the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead and the way they forced him to his knees before cutting his head open with the butt of that gun, but for each memory he’s forced to relive he gets another reason to be thankful for being alive. 

“Mitchy?” Auston asks, snapping him from his thoughts. His smile is gentle, worried, ready to slip into a frown, but Mitch just grabs his hand, kissing the back of it. 

“I’m good,” he says, and for the first time since last night, he means it. 

He knows he’ll have set backs and bad days and days where he’ll be scared of everything around him, but if yesterday taught him anything, it’s to be thankful for the good moments in life while you have them. 

The whole way home his smile stays, even grows when a song he likes comes on. Auston inches the volume up, thinking he’s being sly, but Mitch knows all of his moves. 

It feels surreal after such a traumatic event, but they sing, they laugh, and together they make it home, basking in the joy of being together and being alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know where to take this fic so if you have suggestions to what you'd like to see happen let me know!
> 
> Comments make my day, and I'm in the middle of finals, so please make my day :')

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have anything else written for this so if you'd like to read more please comment! 
> 
> All Comments literally make my day so much better <3


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